Not the Same
by Luna-Kitsune-Blu
Summary: The person she loved was still there, under all the handsome, perfect skin and dark gold hair. She could see it when she looked into his eyes, because those never changed. But even that didn’t change the fact she missed her Beast.


The Beast swung Belle around the balcony, laughing, his young voice loud and clear.

His voice. His _ human _voice. The volume of it grew so he could savor the sound even more.

He'd missed his own voice. Out of everything, losing it had been the hardest. He could have smashed every mirror, drained every pond and pushed every reflective surface as far away from him as possible, but his voice would have still been wrong. Even alone, he'd never been able to deny his change in any way.

Now, even if he could only see his human hands and torso and legs, he knew his voice was right and that, above all, mattered, for it was what he'd missed most.

…no, that wasn't true. He'd missed _Belle_ the most, when she'd left. More than anything he'd ever lost, from his parents to his appearance. He would've done anything to keep her, just have her _visit_, even if it meant an eternity as a beast.

Good thing it hadn't come to that.

The curse had been lifted, setting himself and his servants—now friends—free for forever. And, oh, it was so much better than just 'visits'.

Beast pulled his love close and kissed her deeply for a second time. Just because he could. He supposed he could have been content with her love even as a beast, if things had for some reason been too late, but holding her without claws and kissing her without worrying about fangs getting in their way was better than a dream come true.

Even if it was just that.

"Belle, oh, Belle, thank you!" cried the young man as he held her tightly in his arms. He kissed her forehead and cheeks, earning giggles and half-hearted pushes to make him stop. "You're wonderful," kiss, "beautiful," kiss, "did I say wonderful?" Kiss, kiss, kiss.

"Beast—Beast!" Belle laughed out as she pushed against his half-exposed chest. "Please, I don't understand!"

"I love you," he replied, even if it didn't make much sense as a response. He kissed a spot on her forehead, and then bent to put his own forehead to hers in the same spot. They smiled at one another for a moment. Obviously, his beauty didn't mind his current incoherency.

"I love you, too," Belle answered, quietly.

It was about this time that Mrs. Potts took it upon herself to usher everyone else off the balcony and towards the doorway of the Beast's, or rather the Prince's room. Before she turned to leave herself, she addressed the couple that was currently completely engrossed in one another. "Time to come inside, dears," she said, kind voice unchanged. "You'll catch your death of cold if you're out much longer."

Though the Beast—the _Prince_ truly doubted such a thing could happen at the moment, considering he was so elated, so fixated on Belle that she was all he could feel, he still smiled as he took her waist and led her inside. Mrs. Potts closed the doors—the same ones he'd been hurled through not too long ago—for them. It was a good thing, too, considering once they'd stepped inside, they would have forgotten all about them.

At least he would have.

His room, once the lair and embodiment of the beast he'd been, was…perfectly in order. For the first time in a decade, it was just…a room. Like any other. He hardly recognized it. It'd been so long, he could barely remember when his bed hadn't been broken in half or when the drapes weren't in tattered shreds. The Prince turned in a circle, taking all the strange familiarity of it in and unknowingly dragging his love along for the ride. Even his portrait was in one piece.

…though he still had the urge to throw it out. It seemed superfluous now. Besides, his face was so blank, it was a little disturbing.

Mrs. Potts dragged him from his thoughts, giving a quiet "Goodnight, loves," to them both before leaving. Her goodbye suddenly reminded the Prince exactly how late it was. Or…perhaps early. He wasn't exactly tired, but…

"Are you tired, Belle?" he asked, turning to the woman in his arms.

She nodded. "Yes, actually." She moved to step for the door, but he caught her arm and brought her back close.

"No, no, no, you aren't leaving," he stated, wagging a finger at her. Because he now had a finger and therefore could. It had a normal fingernail and everything. "You'll just end up passing out in the halls or something."

"No, I wouldn't," Belle retorted, laughter eating her words.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, leaning down a bit to get closer to her level and smiled. "Just for tonight. We're both tired, and your room is on the other side of the castle." Belle quirked her eyebrow and brought down her chin, playfully untrusting of him. Typical Belle. To combatant, he pulled out the most innocent smile he could muster.

Which, on a human face, was horribly innocent.

Belle rolled her eyes. "Oh, alright."

Triumphant, he led her to his bed, and after she'd crawled under the covers, fought the urge to simply curl up on top of them himself. Old habits die hard, he guessed as he pulled back the sheets to join her. Belle drifted off soon after he'd wrapped his arms around her. He tried to join her, but eventually silently resigned himself to watching her breathe and enjoying the feeling of brushing his fingers slowly through her hair.

-----

Belle woke up tired and at first, didn't know quite why. Even though she could feel sun spilling across her eyelids and thus surely the rest of the bed, she felt no urge to move. This was strange because Belle had always, always been what was commonly referred to as a 'morning person'. Her mind, even still somewhat clogged with sleep, could process she'd overslept by a severe amount, yet she didn't care. She was comfortable, even if the blankets did feel a little strange. Softer than usual, maybe? Regardless, she simply didn't want to move.

And what did it matter? She was sure the Beast would forgive her for oversleeping just this once. After all, he'd become so kind recently. He'd understand.

Deciding she'd be in the clear for the most part, Belle sighed and snuggled further into the arms embracing her waist in a lazy hold.

…wait a second!

The young woman's eyes snapped open so fast, the aforementioned sunlight blinded her. She had to wait until the tears were blinked out of her eyes before she could fully access the confusing situation.

Once she had, she let out a scream of surprise.

There was a man in her bed. A man she'd never seen before, in her bed. Holding her. In her _bed_.

Once that'd processed, which didn't take all that long considering this was Belle, she let out a shriek for help, for the only person that she'd want it from.

"Beast!" she cried. It was a little foolish, considering her location, but she'd just gotten up and she was, as stated, still tired. Her brilliant mind was working in strange ways and listening to its own logic. Maybe, a part of her hoped, the magic blanketing the castle would somehow transport her shouts its entire length to wherever her animalistic keeper was currently. It was a long shot, but at the moment, she couldn't care less.

Belle bunched the heavy blankets around her, covering herself even if both she and the stranger were fully clothed, and cried her friend's name a second time.

By now, the figure sharing the mattress with her was stirring. "Whaaat? 'm up," he slurred sleepily. Long fingers clawed through his light brown hair in a violent itch. "I'm up."

Belle gave the person a shove. "Get out of my bed!" she ordered, voice slightly shrill from panic. Instantly the man sobered.

An intelligent "Wha--?" was about all he could muster before Belle brandished a pillow and swung it at his head. He ducked, the movement somewhat clumsy, though at the time, it didn't cross his mind.

"Belle?" he asked before having to duck again. He seemed just as confused as the bookworm trying to unsuccessfully to decapitate him via cushion. Then something seemed to occur to him. Blue eyes shifted their focus from the girl to the arms he was trying to protect himself with. This, sadly, left him wide open for attack. Just as understanding bloomed behind his blue eyes, Belle's latest swing hit home, and the man yelped like a surprised dog.

"Just you wait until the Beast catches you!" the young woman was practically wailing, the stranger now subjected to each blow. Belle swung wildly, eyes screwed shut, though every hit was relatively the same, smacking the young man's back and shoulders.

"W-what?!" sputtered the man. His only move to fight back at the moment was to cover his head from the onslaught.

Belle ignored him. Instead, she continued to shout for her Beast and make the odd threat of what lay in store for the intruder once the Master of the manor arrived. It'd yet to don on her to cry for anyone else, even Madame who should have been in the room already. The protective, slightly overbearing wardrobe would have never allowed this person beneath the sheets with her in the first place, let alone stand silent as Belle fought him off. Surely, by now the dresser should have restrained him, kicking and screaming if need be. At least she would, had she been there. But Madame was no where to be found and Belle hadn't even noticed.

After several more swings, Belle was finally relieved of her weapon. The man had grabbed her by one arm to hold her still, while the other yanked the cushion from her then chucked it away. As he did so, a strange grunt of distaste burst from his throat. Once both hands were free, the man took a hold of Belle by the shoulders. "Calm down!" he ordered.

"Beast!" Belle cried again, voice cracking from overuse and frustration.

The man's face screwed itself into a scowl that looked misplaced against his elegant features. "I'm right here!" he bellowed. "What is wrong with you?!"

Belle froze, eyes snapping open. She knew that tone. Even if the voice was wrong—horribly so—she knew that tone. And that expression, while we're at it. Still, she was far more accustomed to it on a face of fur, just as the sound should have been coming from a mouth filled with fangs.

Seeing the fight bleed out of Belle, the man chanced releasing her, giving a snort through his nose. "What is _wrong_ with you?" he repeated. Though he continued to frown, worry was evident in his bright blue eyes. Even if the rest of his face showed annoyance, his eyes portrayed the unbridled concern and confusion he was truly feeling.

By now, Belle was just staring at him. The longer she did so, the more his face softened. Soon, his mouth had inverted into an embarrassed little quirk of a smile and there was a faint blush painting his cheeks. Finally, he had to look away.

"Say something, will you?" the man asked in a quiet, childish voice as he scratched at his neck. The embarrassment hardly suited his mature features, but then again, it never had. Less then than now, if he was truly…

"Beast?" Belle's voice was even softer. Hardly timid, just confused. This brought the man's gaze back to her, eyes alive with relief.

"Yes," he breathed. A warm hand cupped her cheek as he spoke. He was smiling, which softened the exasperated tone he used. When he smiled, he was as beautiful as an angel. "Yes, Belle. It's me."

She didn't know if she wanted to shrink away from his touch or push in closer. This was so confusing. In the end, she just settled for shaking her head. "But—but _how_?"

The man—her Beast?—squinted at her. "Don't you remember?" Again, she shook her head. His expression then changed to something so endearing and angelic, it was hard for Belle not to smile in return. "How can you not remember?" he asked. He sounded almost amused as he ran his fingers through her hair. From there, the hand wrapped around her neck and with the help of its partner at her waist, he drew Belle into a gentle hug. "You saved me, Belle. I…I thought I was going to die—that maybe I had, or…"

He trailed off just as the memories of the night before returned.

The villagers. Gaston. The Beast, as he scaled the castle rooftops to reach her. His…his death. And rebirth. _Everyone's_ rebirth.

Everything now back in place, even if she still didn't exactly understand how it all worked, Belle slowly returned the embrace. She tried her best to ignore the immense feeling of this all being _wrong_ as she did so, but it wouldn't be shaken.

"I'm sorry," was all she could think to say.

The human Beast chuckled, a sound she'd never heard in his former voice. The realization that she never would made her want to cry.

"It's alright," he assured her, holding her even tighter. Though she was confident he was oblivious to her sadness and its cause, she clung to the comfort. He hardly seemed to mind. "It's more than alright."

-----

"It…it feels wrong."

Belle sat on an inanimate stool facing the inanimate stove that a very human Mrs. Potts was working over.

A week had passed since the Prince's birthday, meaning Belle had already heard the full story—from more than one person—as to the hows and whys of what had happened the night the castle was attacked. At the time, she'd been a little too star struck and running a little too heavily on adrenaline to think clearly enough to ask. That, and it was quite possible she would have passed out somewhere in the middle, considering as it had been a long day and it'd turned out to be a rather lengthy story, especially with Cogsworth insisting on the part of narrator the first time around.

She had used the week to attempt at getting her head around all the magic that had been hiding under her own nose all winter, while the servants, as well as their master, slowly became accustomed to their new forms. It wasn't easy, either. Ten years without fingers, or feet, or even faces spawned a number of habits that everyone, save Belle, was having trouble breaking.

The kind woman currently brewing tea for the two of them to chat over was having the worst time adjusting, or so Belle assumed. Mrs. Potts had always been energetic, so much like the young woman's father in the sense, but now she was being restrained by an aged human body. And, as she'd put it earlier, when explaining away the shake in her hands as she drew two tea cups from the cupboard, she was no spring chicken. In fact, she was easily the oldest servant on the grounds.

"Wrong, dear?" repeated Mrs. Potts just as the kettle she'd once resembled began to hiss. She reached to take the handle barehanded, then thought better of it. Pain was new to those in the castle, and she'd already burned her wrinkled hands by being thoughtless around the kitchen one too many times. Tut-tuting at herself, Mrs. Potts wrapped a cloth around the tea pot's handle then brought it over to the table near Belle.

"Yes," Belle replied just as her cup was carefully being filled. "Well…sort of."

"Well, best be out with it," replied the older woman, finishing off the cup, and then going to her own. "Don't keep an old girl waiting all day."

Belle smiled at the reply and took up her cup. A slender finger began tracing the rim, she half wishing it would cause the little thing to giggle. When it didn't, and she realized how foolish she was being for wanting it to, the smile faded and she sighed. "He just isn't the same." After a raised grey brow from Mrs. Potts, Belle amended, "well, obviously not, but…" The girl drew in a breath and straightened in her chair. "Shouldn't he be? Under all the fur and—and" she waved her hand uselessly around her face in an extremely vague motion, "_stuff_, he was supposed to be the _same_. Only he's _not_, he's…" Belle frowned at herself. Why was getting these words out so hard? "I know it doesn't make sense," she stated quietly, setting the untouched tea on the table.

Mrs. Potts sipped her drink slowly, watching the young girl who'd saved them all with careful, wise eyes.

"It'll just take time, love," she replied after a moment of silent deliberation. "Only his appearance has changed, and appearances hardly matter. You, if anyone, should know that."

"I _do_ know that." Belle's hands drew into fists in her lap. "It's just…he feels like a _stranger_ now. I'll see him in the halls and not recognize him. I wake up every morning and…wonder where my Beast is." Mrs. Potts opened her mouth to speak, but Belle continued on. "I still see him, in flashes. We'll be talking and he'll say something like he used to, or look at me like he used to, all embarrassed and lost and endearing…" The brunette's lip twitched and then pulled back into a small, wistful smile. "And it'll be like he never left." The smile vanished with a sigh. Her shoulders slumped. "And then it'll be gone. Just like that. He'll just be a pretty prince stopping to chat or wanting to hear a story."

There was a short moment of silence as Mrs. Potts absorbed and mulled over Belle's words. Once she'd thought of something to say in return, she reached across the thin table and put a weathered hand on the girl's shoulder. "Don't fret, love," she said. "It's just happening a little too fast, that's all. The Master is the same in all the places it counts. The rest is just learning to accept a few changes."

Belle nodded, knowing the woman was right. The person she loved was still there, under all the handsome, perfect skin and dark gold hair. She could see it when she looked into his eyes, because those never changed.

But even that didn't change the fact she missed her Beast.

-----

"I'm going to do it tonight, Cogsworth."

The Prince paused to fight with his tie. After removing his hands to look at himself in the mirror, a soft growl—about as loud as he could make anymore—rumbled from his throat and he undid it. Again.

Stupid fingers. Stupid clumsy fingers. Wasn't he supposed to get better at doing this kind of thing with fingers?

"Ah, allow me." A stout man that used to be a coat rack just last week stepped forward and set to fixing the tie himself.

"Thank you," muttered the Prince. There were some advantages to being covered in fur, he'd realized. No one could tell when you blushed.

…had he always blushed this much?

"Anyways," he drew in a breath and let it out in a confident manner, back straight and chest puffed out, "I'm proposing tonight."

"Splendid," cried the former clock behind him, just at the right angle to be caught in the Prince's mirror. He clapped his hands together loudly, and then paused to stare at his clasped appendages in surprise at the noise. The Prince's eyebrow rose. Once the bewilderment at his own doing passed, Cogsworth cleared his throat. "We, ah, the staff has been wondering when you would decide to, ah, pop," the older man brought up one hand, fore-finger to thumb for a moment before flicking back, imitating a bursting bubble, "the question." He chuckled at himself.

"Yes, well…" The confidence the Prince had shone just a moment before started leaking through his boots. "I-I was…afraid it may be too soon."

"But you are in love, young Master," Cogsworth replied. "There is no such thing as too soon."

"You think?" Once the Prince realized exactly how timid that had come out, he cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, of course. You're right. It broke the curse after all. She wouldn't say no.

"…would she?"

-----

It was dinner time, which didn't entitle much the last couple days considering the state of affairs of the staff and kitchen. A simple, thick soup had been set in front of both Belle and her Prince, and that was all. They were seated on opposite ends of the long table in the Grand Hall, eating in nearly perfect silence.

Belle had never liked this table. Even when she'd first arrived and was still a 'prisoner', she hated its size. The young woman could remember the first few days, and how she found the table too short. She just couldn't get far enough away from this monster and his horrible manners. Then, as time passed, it seemed to get longer. There was never any middle, comfortable ground. The space grew until it felt like miles.

Now, it felt even further than that.

Worlds away, the Prince stirred his soup, absently. Still on earth, Belle did the same. Both were silent, both in different lines of thought. While the young Master was selecting the perfect phrasing for his proposal, Belle recounted the days of enchantment she'd spent in the castle. How, for hours she could forget about her Papa and her village, and be happy surrounded by the magic that used to fill everything about this place. She still found it funny how immersed she'd been in a true fairytale and, with the exception of the talking objects, just hadn't noticed. She, of all people, should have guessed the Beast was under a spell. Really, with how much she read, she should have seen it coming. It was there in the storytelling's basics, yet she just still oblivious.

That begged the question. If she'd known about the curse, considering how much she missed his former form, would she have set the Beast free if his life hadn't depended on it?

And where did that leave her now? The curse had been broken by True Love, and everything had returned to normal. About this time, the author would have tagged on the happily ever after and sent his book off to the printing press. Was that it, then? Was this her happily ever after? Belle's story, her adventures, they were…over?

No, that wasn't fair. As soon as she'd realized she'd been living her dream, she'd been rudely awoken. It just wasn't fair.

And it wasn't her idea of 'Happily Ever After'.

"Ah, Belle?"

The girl in question jerked, so lost in thought she'd forgotten her surroundings. "Yes, Prince?" she asked. She hated addressing him that way. Belle didn't care how weird it sounded, she wanted to call him 'Beast'. That's who he was to her. It just made more sense.

The bushy eyebrows of her human love drew together and he squinted at her. "You were frowning," he stated and motioned at her with his spoon, which was still dripping slightly. Her mouth twitched. Just as improper as ever.

"I was…just thinking about the ending of the last book I read," she lied, eyes casting back down to the brown liquid filling her bowl. "I didn't like it very much."

"Then read another," the man suggested. "You have plenty to choose from. I'm sure you'll find another with an ending you like better." Belle looked up through her eyelashes at him, trying her best to mask the astonishment and irritation she felt at his careless answer. Even if it wasn't obvious to him, that _had _been a metaphor for their relationship. She couldn't just 'read another'. The Prince, however, had gone back to contemplating his dinner and didn't notice her change in expression.

"I liked the book a lot," she stated. Her voice was growing colder by the minute. She moved her spoon in a wide circle around the center of the bowl. "It was my favorite. I just don't understand why it had to end that way."

"Couldn't help you there," the Prince replied with a shrug. He was assuming the unhappy tone was directed at the author of the novel and not himself, not knowing they were one and the same. "You know more about books than me."

Belle nodded and went back to slowly draining her bowl, one spoonful at a time. In truth, she'd been reading many books lately. It was all that was keeping her from going off the deep end. After several days of feeling isolated, walking around a castle she didn't recognize filled with people she didn't know, it had been comforting to have her feet take her on their own to the library, her library, to find it exactly the same. The books had never been magic, so it wasn't disappointing to pick one up and not have it squeak or move, and their contents weren't altered by the transformation at weeks beginning, so she could start the ones she'd already read without fear of the ending being different.

It was comforting, being able to find her solace in the vast bookshelves.

It was also depressing, because that's exactly what she used to do back in town. Why was she still having to run away from reality? Why did the castle have to start being like everywhere else?

"Belle?"

"_Yes_, Prince?" she asked, not meaning for it to come out as exasperated as she felt. He winced.

"I-I was just…wondering, I mean, considering we've both finished—" Belle looked down to see that she had, indeed, reached the bottom of her bowl. "—if you would like, uh, to dance?" Before he could take back the offer or try to amend it in some way, which she knew he would considering how quick the man was to please her, Belle had already risen from her chair.

"I'd love to," she said with a smile. It grew a little bit more when she caught him deflating with a sigh of relief he most likely didn't want her to see. Returning the smile with one twice as beautiful—even if his face was about the same pink of the rose he used to keep locked in his room—he walked over and offered her an arm.

Even in human form, the Prince treated Belle as if she were made of glass. Whether it was out of habit or an extension of his love for her, she didn't know. She just knew she wasn't very fond of it. Now, barely touching her as he led her into the Ballroom, Belle had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him that she was very much not breakable. The trials they'd endured up until now should have been proof of that. Instead, she was silent as she put her hand onto his and pressed in a little closer than usual.

It wouldn't get the message across, considering how most things needed to be spelled out for her love, but it made her feel a bit more comfortable.

Andre, the coat rack present for their first night of dancing, began playing a waltz for them. The Prince smiled down at her as his hands relocated to their appropriate spots, this time without her help. Belle placed her head to his chest as they began to move, letting him lead her as her mind wandered. She put herself back in that night, just a week ago, and tried to remember how he used to smell. It was a deep smell of musk and fur, so strong it made her dizzy. His room used to smell of it, too.

It reminded her of the rug in the main room of the house she'd lived in when her mother was still alive. It was a comforting smell. She'd loved it.

And it was still there, too, in his hair—which she really wished he'd stop tying back—and sometimes in his clothing. It was just fainter. When she closed her eyes, it was easier to tell it was still there…

"I was thinking, Belle," began the Prince, musical voice soft and right above her head. Even if it wasn't the one she was used to, Belle had to admit, it was pleasant. She could listen to him talk for hours with such a voice as that.

"About?" replied Belle. She'd already hit her maximum 'yes, Prince?'s for the evening. Once more and she might just scream.

"Oh, well, uh…" Their pace slowed for just a moment, then her love regained his footing and continued on with the dance. "I was wondering what you would think if…we held a ball." Even if she couldn't see his face, she could imagine it. He was wincing at his own answer, knowing it had sounded so much better in his head and wondering what had gone wrong between there and his mouth. Her lips pulled at the image.

"For who?"

"Oh, uh, us, the servants…your village, perhaps?" he stammered. "Maybe to show there were, uh…"

"No hard feelings?" Belle finished. She looked up in time to catch his grateful smile.

"Yes." The Prince ducked his head to press their foreheads together. His confidence was building, adding to the speed of their turns and the coherency of his speech. "I already talked to Cogsworth about it—he knows more about the things than I would, after all—and he said it'd also be a good way to reacquaint me with the other royals." He made a face once he'd gotten to the end of the sentence that made her giggle. "I'd rather not get involved in politics again, considering I'm so far behind and they're _boring_, but knowing him, he'll invite them anyways."

"You should just leave them to him," suggested Belle. "It seems like just his cup of tea."

"Maybe I will," grinned the Prince. The conversation was put on pause for the remainder of the waltz, the Prince waiting for the music to die before continuing. After thanking Andre, he drew Belle in close. "At first, I wanted to throw it celebrating the end of my curse, but…" He paused to run his fingers through the brown hair pulled over Belle's shoulder, "then I thought of something that might just be better…" The sentence dropped and the Prince continued to toy with his love's hair.

"And?" asked Belle. Her stomach tightened in anticipation. "What's more important than celebrating the curse being broken?"

"Your…agreeing to marry me," he replied softly. He let the strands drop from his grasp just as Belle froze to the floor. His blue eyes, so much like a shallow pool to reveal every emotion, locked on hers. "_Would_ you marry me, Belle?"

Belle's breath had caught somewhere in her chest and was beginning to burn. Suddenly everything, even the air, was heavier than the lead her stomach had turned into. Her eyebrows drew together as her eyes thinned.

_No, this is wrong_.

"I-I…I have to think about it."

With that, Belle turned and sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time towards the East wing.

-----


End file.
